


The Red Cloak

by vanillafluffy



Category: Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, Little Red Riding Hood (Fairy Tale), Little Red Riding Hood - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Dark, F/M, Fairy Tale Retellings, Werewolf Mates, Werewolf Turning, lycanthropy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-28 07:41:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11413317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanillafluffy/pseuds/vanillafluffy
Summary: A different ending to a familiar tale.





	The Red Cloak

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tigriswolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigriswolf/gifts).



Sometimes her old life is hard to call to mind, as if it was all some half-remembered dream, or a story told vividly by some clever bard. There were the days spent baking in Papa's patisserie and the weekly visit to Grandmama in her snug little woodland cottage. It was all very orderly and predictable. 

Last autumn, when the winds grew chill, she'd donned her cloak of warm crimson wool, taken her basket of victuals for Grandmama in hand, and set off for their regular Sunday afternoon visit. There was talk in the village that wolves had been heard lately in the dark woods, but didn't they only come out at night? 

As usual, Grandmama was pleased to see her. The matriarch accepted the food she brought graciously; they both maintained the polite fiction that this was a small matter and her larder was amply provided for. 

They enjoyed chatting over tea and biscuits so much that the afternoon slipped away before they were aware of it. It was nearly sunset, and Grandmama fretted, "Child, I have heard wolves in the woods, almost under my very window, and their claw marks are on the door to the chickens' coop where they tried to get in. You should stay here tonight and not try to return to town before dark."

The young woman shook her head. "Father needs me so early in the morning that I would have to leave before sunrise to get back in time. But I can run swiftly, and if I leave right now, I'm sure I'll be alright." So saying, she settled the cloak upon her shoulders once more, tucking her dark curls under its hood and reclaiming the empty basket. 

With a kiss to her grandmother, she was on her way. As she'd claimed, she was a good runner, being lean and long-legged. Her cloak streamed behind her, a rippling red banner, and she was quite enjoying her activity--until she heard the first howl. 

It came from some distance, perhaps as much as a mile. Although fear increased the tempo of her heart, it also lent speed to her feet. She let go the basket, lifted her skirts and fled toward home. 

She ran for her life. 

Closer sounded the wolf 's cry--much closer. She gasped for breath. She didn't dare look behind her, lest she see the beast with its red eyes and slavering jaws, ready to pounce. 

Stumbling upon the uneven track, her stride wavered. She sobbed at the snarl that dogged her heels. 

Then it leapt upon her. 

She fell heavily to the ground. Playing dead was supposed to cause bears to abandon one as prey, but not so wolves, it seemed. The cloak stymied it somewhat--from its pawing, it was almost as if it was trying to turn her over. 

Perhaps she could wound it and so drive it away? Her only weapon was the pin securing her cloak. Seizing the head of it, she tugged it free and rolled onto her back. Blind him, she thought. It would be easier to throw him off her trail if all he could do was sniff. 

Clever wolf--he recognized the threat, the slender silver spike glinting in the moonlight. He nipped her wrist, and her last faint hope spun from her grasp. 

Teeth sank into her throat. She could hear him lapping thirstily at the warm blood that gushed forth. His claws dug into her, shredding scarlet wool and the lighter challis beneath. 

Above, the round moon looked down. She was cold, so cold...what happened to her clothes? Who was the strange man rutting upon her? Where was the wolf? There was pain and not-pain, and when she opened her mouth to scream, the howl that emerged sounded a new beginning. 

The night was full of mysterious noises she'd never been aware of before. She hardly noticed the male having his way with her as overwhelmed as she was by the primal flood of sounds and scents. When he finished, he nudged her to get up. She pawed aside the tattered rags that were once her prized red cloak. 

It was surprisingly awkward to be on four legs, but her natural agility soon mastered it. She ran at his side, giving praise to the light of the moon. She would not go to the town that night, nor any other.

It is spring now. Her mate nuzzles her and she stretches lazily. The long winter in their den is over, and there are little ones to feed. 

There is, she remembers, a little cottage with a hen-house beyond the stream and the great bramble thicket. A few plump fowl would be nice after a constant diet of rabbit and squirrel. And if, by chance, she can't get into the coop, there's always the house. By the light of the full moon, she can knock on the door. 

.


End file.
